


The Predatory Clown of Derry is Out to Get Us!

by bad_at_everything



Series: it: gay repression [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Love, Fluff and Angst, Internalized Homophobia, Introspection, M/M, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, kind of hot garbage but also sweet so we toeing that line v nicely, this is set right after the first movie ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-24 18:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21342661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bad_at_everything/pseuds/bad_at_everything
Summary: Oh, how I meant to tease himOh, how I meant no harmAdolescence is hard enough. Throw in traumatic clown experiences and realizing you're in love with your best friend, well, that definitely doesn't make it easier.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: it: gay repression [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1586239
Comments: 2
Kudos: 80





	The Predatory Clown of Derry is Out to Get Us!

**Author's Note:**

> *listens to [sufjan stevens](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8DCav8NvbQQ) once* o fuck! time to write about gay repression
> 
> listen i've been think about them nonstop since the second movie came out so like here. take it. enjoy it. it is yours for consumption.

In the summer days following the defeat of It, Richie finds himself sneaking into Eddie’s room nearly every night. He’s not entirely sure why, except that sometimes he just feels like his skin is crawling off his body, and if he's alone in the dark one more goddamn minute-well. He just prefers not to be.

It’s the last day before school returns, their first year of high school, which is a beast of its own to conquer, and here he is, in the tree right outside of Eddie’s room, knocking on his window. He barely even has to tap on the glass before Eddie’s disgruntled face appears. 

Richie grins and waves, and Eddie sticks out his tongue, unlatching the window, pushing aside the screen.

“I thought we agreed you weren’t coming over tonight,” Eddie says in a quiet hiss, but he moves aside to let Richie climb in. “It’s already super late, and I don’t want to fall asleep on the first day of class.”

“Yeah, but I missed your cute face too much,” Richie pinches Eddie’s cheek as he steps past him. “Besides, you were awake so I _know_ you were just waiting for me, Eds.” Eddie shoves halfheartedly at him.

“Be quiet, my mom could hear,” Eddie says, which is what he says every night. 

“Right, don’t want her to know that I’ve got a hoe on the side,” Richie says, which is one of his many rotating responses. Eddie rolls his eyes, going to close the window while Richie collapses on the bed. 

“I cannot believe I let you into my-shit!” Eddie flinches backwards, cradling his hand to his chest. The window shuts, and Eddie backs further into his room. “Fuck!”

“Woah, are you okay?" Richie sits up. “Did you cut yourself?”

“Goddammit-” Eddie says, hyperventilating. His eyes are fixated on the tiny cut on his right hand. “That window is covered in dirt and, and _germs_, fuck, I’ve gotta, before he, before-” He looks like he’s far away from here. 

This kind of stuff happens, sometimes. Little things that really shouldn’t matter, a scrape on a window screen, an offhand comment, and suddenly they’re spiraling, like even though that clown is long gone, it feels like he’s close. Behind them, even. Maybe that’s another reason why Richie finds himself in Eddie’s room more nights than not.

“Hey, dude, let me see, it’ll be fine-” But Eddie’s already shoving past him, flying out the door and towards the bathroom.

“Eddie!” Richie whispers yells, follows him out into the hall. He slips into the bathroom behind Eddie, who’s desperately turning on the faucet, pouring antibacterial soap all over his hands.

“I’ve got to get the germs off, Richie, I can’t-” Eddie scowls at him, but doesn’t say anything else, just continues to scrub furiously at his hands under the water that Richie can actually _see_ steam coming off it. “What if I get infected, what if-”

“Woah, woah, buddy, are you trying to find bone?” Richie lunges forward, swiftly turning off the faucet before Eddie can, like, melt his skin off.

Richie touches Eddie’s back, the warmth through his pajama shirt almost feeling like a burn. A good burn though, he thinks. 

“I think you’re good,” Richie says, chuckling to himself. “You do want to still have skin, you know,” He says, and he rubs Eddie’s back in a way he hopes is comforting. Eddie doesn’t move away, which is probably a good sign.

“Shut up,” Eddie says, and he’s shaking, but less so than he was before. “Shut up. AIDS gets in through open wounds, did you know that? I’ve told you that! I’m being careful. Maybe you should think about trying that!” 

“Deep breaths, buddy,” Richie says, lowering his voice and leaning in slightly closer. Eddie makes eye contact with him through the mirror, pupils blown wide. “It’s barely a scratch. Look man, it’s not even bleeding anymore.” 

“Go fuck yourself,” Eddie says, but he leans into Richie’s touch, lets his angry red hands rest on the edge of the counter. He's coming back down now, away from wherever he was and into the crowded bathroom with Richie.

“Actually-” And he had another teasing remark at the tip of his tongue, something light, something that Eddie could retaliate to easily. But at that moment Eddie turns to face Richie, and suddenly he realizes just how close they are. The words die before they can leave his lips.

“Actually, what?” Eddie says, furrowing his eyebrows and not moving away. Like the proximity doesn’t light his insides on fire, like he doesn’t even notice it. And maybe he shouldn’t, maybe Richie shouldn’t care, because for chrissakes they’ve been this close before, have slept in the same bed countless times, have known each other too long to not be familiar with every inch of space around each other. 

Richie bites at the inside of his cheek. He can’t seem to find the words he was looking for, which is only more confusing, cause that’s not what’s supposed to happen. He’s supposed to tease him, just like he always did, not fall silent while tracing his eyes down the curves of Eddie’s face. 

“I-” Eddie also seems at a loss for words, the panic from before morphing into concern. “Are you okay?”

_Don’t touch the other boys, Richie_

Richie doesn’t pull his hand away from the small of Eddie's back, doesn't move his face further either. He feels like he’s at a stalemate with himself, on the cusp of something, mouth halfway open but nothing coming out. 

“I don’t think you’ve ever been this quiet, are you having a stroke?” Eddie asks, half joking and half ready to enter crisis mode again. His eyes are bright, the almost tears there reflecting the dim yellow bathroom lights. “Rich-”

And, because he doesn’t think he can do anything else, Richie kisses him. 

For a moment, it’s just that. One hand steady on the small of Eddie’s back, the other clutching the counter top so the world won’t collapse. For a moment, it’s Richie’s lips on Eddie’s lips, and it’s soft and warm and a little bit wet. For a moment, Eddie’s fingers, still damp from the faucet, touch the side of Richie’s arm, and Richie wants to live there.

The moment ends when Richie’s rational thought, which had always been slow on the uptake, catches up to his body. He steps back so fast he nearly slips, only just managing to catch himself on the counter.

“Yep!” He suddenly finds his voice, “Think I definitely just had a stroke!” He’s being loud, too loud, but there’s shame pouring over him, burning through him like hot lava, and he needs a time machine so he can undo that right fucking now. Take everything back. He had only meant to tease Eddie a little bit longer, he hadn’t-

“I-” Eddie looks shocked, eyes wide and face nearly as red as the V on his cast. “Did you just-” 

_I know your secret, your dirty little secret_

“I’m not gay!” Richie spits out, this time in a whisper, more aware of where they are, in the dimly lit bathroom with Eddie’s anal mother only a few doors away. “I wasn’t-I wasn’t trying to-” He feels like the leper, the one that Eddie had tried to tell him about with tears in his eyes, dirty and wrong, and god he had _kissed_ him. “Fuck.” Is it too late to play it off as a joke?

Eddie raises his hand, gently touching his lips with the tips of his fingers, where Richie just was. “You just kissed me.” He says, like he’s trying to process that himself. 

“I didn’t mean it,” Richie says, desperately, feeling his eyes stinging. He is not going to cry, like some kind of fucking _fairy_, he’s not- 

“Didn’t mean what?” Eddie asks, soft and tentative, and he must be trying to torture Richie at this point. He must be trying to get Richie to admit the words out loud, to cut him open and spill his shame out into the open. Then what? He’d tell the other losers, and then everyone would turn on him, and he would deserve it because he was dirty, a little-

“Please don’t make me explain,” Richie’s voice is a quiet plea. Eddie studies him, and Richie has no idea what to say, or what to do. He should leave right now, take the punishment that he’s earned, but he’s so terrified he can’t even move. He thinks he might just die on the spot, might shrivel in on himself like a withering corpse. That might be better, he thinks, for everyone.

Of course, Eddie’s always been the brave one. Cautious, sure, careful to the point of annoyance at times, but undeniably brave. Braver than Richie, at least. Even when he shouldn’t have to be, even when, like now, he looks almost as scared as Richie feels.

“Okay. Okay, it didn’t mean anything. We can forget that ever happened,” Eddie says, and it’s like he’s Superman catching a fucking plane, and Richie is so grateful he almost has the urge to kiss Eddie again. He quickly stomps that obnoxious whim back where it came from. “It is late, and this entire summer has been so weird, so it’s best if we just,” Eddie waves his hand in the air. 

“So fucking weird!” Richie says, and starts trying to bring himself back down. “Like, the clown definitely got our brains all screwed up. Probably be good to forget everything about this summer, honestly.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, laughing nervously. “Definitely,” He doesn’t look away from Richie’s face for a minute, with an expression Richie is to afraid to decipher. Then, he glances down at the watch on his wrist. “Shit, school starts in five hours. We need to go to bed!” The ‘we’ sets Richie’s heart off again. Maybe this could be forgiven, maybe Eddie would actually forget about this.

Eddie doesn’t kick him out, instead just grabs his wrist (Richie ignores the way it burns) and drags him from the bathroom into his room. He drops his wrist when they enter, shuts the door with a gentle touch. 

“You better be out of here before my mom comes in to wake me up,” Eddie warns, burrowing himself into the covers. Richie almost wants to cry when he lifts up the side of the blanket, waiting for Richie to join him. Richie does, climbing into bed and doing his best at _forgetting_.

“What, and miss face to face time with Mrs. K? Of course by face I mean-” He’s cut off when Eddie shoves his pillow into his face.

“Shut up!” Eddie whispers menacingly, then hits him with the pillow once again, for good measure, before turning settling down on his side. “Go the fuck to sleep!”

“Night, night, Eds!” Richie grins, feeling a bit of normalcy creep back, before flipping over himself, ready to try and get to sleep.

And, to his credit, Richie really tries to fall asleep. Really tries to _forget_ and move on, to still the racing of his heart and the whirlwind in his head. But he can't relax, he feels like an intruder in Eddie's bed and his life.

They’re back to back, and that inch of space between them feels like a mile, cold and unforgiving. The minutes creep on, and while Richie’s not quite sleeping, he can tell Eddie isn’t either. 

“Rich,” Eddie’s voice filters through the dark gently, like he’s afraid to spook Richie. Richie makes a grunt of acknowledgement. “You’re my best friend, you know that, right?”

“What, did I finally dethrone your mom?” Richie tries to play it like a joke, but he’s a little bit surprised. He’d kind of always thought Bill was Eddie’s favorite. Richie was just kind of, you know, the joker that everyone sort of put up with.

“Shut up,” Eddie says, but there’s no bite to it. “It’s just-- you couldn’t scare me off. That’s all. Now go to sleep before I murder you.” 

Yeah, Eddie’s always been the brave one. Richie doesn’t trust himself to speak, too afraid some words might spill out that he can’t take back, so he just flips over to face Eddie’s back, watches the gentle way Eddie’s shoulders move when he breathes. His chest aches.

_I love him_, he mouths the words like a confession, both unwilling and unable to give them a voice, but the admission alone hits him like a fucking truck. He _loves_ him. Richie loves Eddie, terribly, in exactly the way he knows he shouldn’t. It's almost unbearable, and at this moment Richie would give everything to unknow it. 

Soon Eddie’s breathing slows, the sound of falling asleep. Richie reaches out, touches the small of Eddie’s back, letting the warmth there soak through his fingertips. The world is sleeping, so Richie selfishly takes this moment, let’s himself feel what he’s been denying. In another life, one less cruel, these feelings, this _love_ (the word itself makes him shake), wouldn’t be something to hide away or something to fear. They wouldn’t be bogged down by shame. They’d outshine the fucking sun.

He lets himself fall asleep thinking about the way Eddie’s lips felt on his, and dreams of a world where he could do that again and again and again.

**Author's Note:**

> what are fictional characters if not virtual canvases upon which to attempt to work through your unresolved emotional traumas?


End file.
